The funeral, memorial service actually, was held in Mitch's favorite "gasthaus" almost thirty days after the plane crash.  There was no priest, no preacher, nothing religious.  Mitch was an atheist.  That's not entirely true, he had believed in something greater than mankind, but he never worshipped whatever that something was.

     Instead of a casket surrounded by flowers, there was only a large fifty by thirty inch picture of him doing what he loved to do.  It was placed on an easel so that everyone had a good view of it, in the middle of the stage.  His band had performed here regularly and this would be his last time as his picture was surrounded by his band mates, playing all the songs he loved.

     "We should have waited with his ashes," his son, Travis said.  "We could have put the urn on the stage."

     His mother shrugged and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.  "Maybe, but we did what he wanted.  He's where he wanted to be."

     Where he wanted to be was spread across the Gulf of Mexico, along the coast of his home state, Texas.  His wife, Faye, five children and seven grandchildren had all taken the boat trip to scatter his ashes.  There weren't many ashes to spread as they never found all of his body.  The family, except for Faye, wanted to forego this memorial service.  It meant the sadness, the depression they all suffered would continue past what they felt should have been the closure point, scattering his ashes in the gulf.  Mitch was a deeply loved man.

     The memorial service - call it a party - was also one of Mitch's requests and Faye was determined to make it happen.  All of his friends were there, some he and Faye hadn't seen or talked to for many years.  Musicians he'd played with, soldiers he'd served with, neighbors and fans were all there. 

     For Faye, this was the real closure point, although she would never truly find closure; she was certain of that.  Faye didn't want closure, anyway...she wanted, and it was hard for her to admit...revenge.  Faye wanted revenge and as the memorial slowly came to its conclusion, she moved away from the family and joined Mitch's soldier buddies at their table.

     "Have you found out anything?"  She asked.

     "Faye...we're...not making much progress, I'm afraid," replied Troy.  He looked down at the table, embarrased by their lack of progress.  Troy was a big man, even at sixty he was still solidly built, well over six feet tall.  He had served with Mitch in the Army and later, as an agent for the CIA.  He looked up and said, "Even with our contacts, there's no solid leads.  Sure Al Qaida has claimed responsibility, but who...well, we just don't have anything."

     Faye glared at the men, but her anger was quickly extinguished.  She knew they were doing all they could.  They loved Mitch, in their own way, and were doing all they could - she was sure of that.  She nodded and for the thousandth time wished that Mitch were here.  She started to speak, but something distracted her.  She looked around the room.  What was that?

     She couldn't find whatever it was that had distracted her but, she noticed that the gasthaus was nearly empty, only family and the ex-soldiers remained.  The band was gone, the bartenders and waitresses, too.  Where is everyone?  How could they all leave without telling me goodbye, she thought.

     Suddenly there was a loud crash as the picture of Mitch fell off the easel and a plume of smoke arose in its place.  Everyone jumped in their seats and all eyes were riveted on the stage.

     The distinctive slam of a door being thrown open against a wall, on the other end of the room, diverted their attention from the stage.  Something was wrong with the lights.  They were dim, but not...smokey, somehow.  A strange mist filtered through the open door and a shadow seemed to form within it. 

     Faye gasped and then slumped in her chair.  She didn't faint, but Troy grabbed her and held her up.  They, and everyone else, stared at the door and watched as Mitch walked into the room.